


Meat as His Medium

by foxjar



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tokyo Ghoul, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Death, Horror, M/M, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23690941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/foxjar
Summary: Madarame provides Yusuke meat. Akira gives him love.Yusuke thinks about the meat in the fridge, blood soaking through the packaging. At least now there will be more food for him.At least there's that.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke & Madarame Ichiryusai, Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few months ago, but it's a late fill for Daybreakers Month.
> 
> Prompt: origins.

The only food Madarame ever prepares for Yusuke is meat. It only happens once a month and his adoptive father makes an event of the meal. They sit down together at the dining table with their plates of thinly-cut meat, adorned with spices and barely cooked. Madarame always tells him that it tastes better the closer it is to its natural state, to the rawness of its original form. And Yusuke believes him, blood smearing across his lips as he bites into the succulent flesh, for his caretaker has never led him astray.

All the while, Madarame stares at him. He watches him as if he wouldn't believe that Yusuke is eating the food unless he sees him take every single bite. His eyes are mistrusting and calculating but in the end, when Yusuke finishes up the last of his food, he seems pleased. His whole body seems to slacken with relief before he stands up to squeeze Yusuke's shoulder. And then he leaves his pupil to his own devices yet again, letting him bask in his loneliness, and Yusuke feels pride swell up inside him. Madarame is proud of him; he didn't say it aloud, but Yusuke feels it nonetheless.

Yusuke made Madarame happy. The only other thing he does that seems to please his caretaker is painting, and even that only tends to be when he creates something magnificent. A masterpiece. With their monthly dinners, his approval is like clockwork, predictable in the way it ticks along. 

The taste of meat never lingers in his mouth long, the savoriness of flesh banished from his tongue until the next month. The next meal.

Yusuke doesn't even have to share with any of Madarame's other pupils, not as he has in the past. The last was a man who slept in the same room as Yusuke and snored all through the night. Madarame told Yusuke that he left them so suddenly because he'd been commissioned by a wealthy patron and had abandoned them while they slept. It didn't matter that the former pupil had left all of his belongings; that's what everyone who leaves seems to do, so overcome with their newfound fortune that they attempt to shed the remnants of their past lives.

Pictures of family, gifts from friends. Yusuke still remembers seeing the glint of a golden picture frame that had stood on the man's bedside table, an image of a young girl encased within. A sister or a mother, perhaps; Yusuke never found out, but eventually, Madarame plucked up the remainder of the belongings that were left behind, and it was like the man had never been there at all. That side of the room is empty now. Cold.

While he doesn't understand how someone could betray his teacher — the great Madarame Ichiryusai — in such a way, Yusuke still relishes the attention. Even when it's bad, even when there is disappointment woven into Madarame's face, even when he yells at him; it is all for Yusuke. He doesn't have to share his attention with anyone.

Until the next pupil comes along, forcing his way into Yusuke's space, smiling at him as if nothing is amiss. He bows before him, lavishing him with praise, for he has seen Yusuke's work and aspires to be as great of an artist as him someday. The words chip at Yusuke's ice, but not entirely. Not quite. 

Yusuke laments to Akira — his dearest, his beloved. When Yusuke doesn't know how he might press on with his life or his work, Akira is there to lift his spirits. He smiles at him as if all is well in the world, as if Yusuke's jealousy isn't a big deal at all. Yusuke sits in the corner booth at the small cafe where Akira works, sharing glances and smiles every so often. When Akira doesn't have other customers to tend to he even slips beside him, setting a cup of coffee in front of him — on the house. It's always on the house for Yusuke. 

It's the middle of winter so Yusuke doesn't question it when Akira presses close to him, arms brushing. But when Yusuke lifts his mug, his hand is shaking. He tries to steady it with both hands, but then he feels Akira looking at him. Studying him, dissecting him with his eyes. The sensation is both warm and disconcerting, and Yusuke wonders if he even truly wishes to be seen. It's always been about his art, pouring himself into his work, and in turn, his paintings make people feel things: passion, wonder, disgust. It's always been about feeling.

 _I would like to be seen,_ Yusuke decides. _If only by Akira._

Their hands touch. Akira says his name, drawing it out as if he is unsure how much emphasis to let slip into his voice. He doesn't know that everything he says is important: every syllable, every laugh. But then the bell on the door chimes and Akira stands up, brushing off his apron before greeting the new customer. Yusuke is left staring at his coffee, looking into the dark liquid as if it could reflect something back up at him, some sort of guidance, but he sees nothing. He hears Akira laugh and he wishes it could have been because of him.

When he makes his way back home, the hunger pangs start to set in, twisting and rolling in his stomach. The only food in the fridge is meat wrapped up in stained paper, glistening and red. He reaches out for one only to stop before he can pull it out of the fridge. It's somewhat squishy in his hand, cold and raw, and although he licks his lips, he sets it back. Madarame would be upset if he ate without him; it is their special food, after all. Their special time. 

So he takes a few snacks with him up to his room, and when he sees that the other bed is empty, he isn't surprised. The man hadn't struck him as someone serious enough for this lifestyle, for dedicating himself to Madarame's tutelage. Maybe he left like all the others, abandoning their mentor after all of the doors he had opened and opportunities he'd created for him.

Yusuke thinks about the meat in the fridge, blood soaking through the packaging. At least now there will be more food for him.

At least there's that.

* * *

It's raining again, midwinter and just above freezing. Yusuke's jacket got a little wet on his way to Leblanc, but it's hanging up now. He tells himself that he'll leave once it's dry, but he hopes that time never comes; he hopes it remains damp for as long as Akira wishes to humor him, and then maybe just a bit longer than that. If Akira has taught him anything, it is that he is greedier than he ever truly realized.

"You could add more food to the menu," Yusuke offers. He's sitting on one of the stools at the counter as Akira prepares him another cup of coffee. "Something with meat. Madarame prepares the most excellent dishes, and I am sure he would share the recipes if I asked."

"There's curry and coffee. I think it's kind of unique. A niche," Akira says, turning back to Yusuke with his fresh coffee. It's hot as it finds its way down Yusuke's throat, warming him, and he stares at Akira all the while.

"I agree that it is quaint. But if you had a larger variety of food, I would visit every day." When Yusuke says this, Akira smiles, trying to hide it with the back of his hand. Yusuke visits every day, regardless of the menu.

"The customers would be delighted," Yusuke adds.

"I'll mention it to Sojiro." Another smile, another moment of Yusuke's breath catching in his throat. But then the moment is over far too soon and although he wishes to reach out to him, to tell him every thought that has accumulated in his mind as he sits here watching him, he says nothing. Day after day he has watched him, and although they aren't exactly close, they aren't so far apart, either.

_Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will tell him how I feel._

But the tomorrows never end, and each day is filled with more longing than the last. It wouldn't be so hard if Akira weren't so charming, so supportive of him when he comes into Leblanc ranting and raving. Akira listens, soaking in the words, smiling at him, and he even indulges Yusuke on the days he isn't working at Leblanc. They visit the movie theater, bookstores, art galleries. Even when Yusuke's passions overcome him, capturing his attention for hours at a time, Akira treats him gently. He never yells, never tells him that his interests are silly. Sometimes he laughs and remarks on his odd quirks, but it's never meant to be an insult. 

The days feel endless, one flowing right into the next. Yusuke has coffee and curry at Leblanc, and on his and Madarame's special evenings, he eats meat. His life is full, richer than he ever could have hoped for.

But then Akira asks him to spend the night with him in his room above the cafe; it's a few weeks in advance, so Yusuke has time to prepare himself. He thinks about how he'll respond and what it all means, if this is the rumored "next step" in a relationship such as theirs. He lets Madarame know too so that he won't worry about him. There's his newest pupil to worry about, anyway — Yoshie — and although Yusuke's jealousy still festers inside him, he knows Yoshie needs some one on one instruction with their mentor. And if that gives Yusuke the opportunity to spend this most intimate of nights with Akira, then he can't be too upset.

When the night finally arrives, they watch movies late into the evening. There isn't much overlap in their film interests, but Yusuke is finding new favorites. He thinks about why Akira loves this action movie so much, why he adores another about a whimsical tale of fantasy; through the process of analyzing the movies, he realizes that Akira's adoration for them is all that he needs. He trusts his sense of aesthetics, his sense of joy. 

What makes Akira happy makes Yusuke happy, too.

Late in the evening, Akira sets out bedding for him on the floor and turns off the light. Yusuke makes himself comfortable beneath the blanket and they talk about life, art, food, dreams. It's difficult for him to explain his contentment with his life now; he has Madarame to guide him and Akira to teach him the intricacies of the heart, whether or not it has been intentional.

The mattress creaks, set upon plastic crates, and Yusuke is wondering how such an arrangement came to be when he opens his eyes. Akira is at the edge of the bed above him, staring down at him, dark hair tousled and his face free of glasses. 

"Would you like to sleep with me? In bed."

Yusuke would like that very much. He can feel his hands shake as he ponders Akira's offer, but the thought of being able to feel his skin so close is too tantalizing. Whatever lies behind the offer, Yusuke doesn't know; he just wants Akira, even if he doesn't have all of the words to express that yet. And for now, he doesn't need them.

The bed looks so inviting with the covers pulled back and Akira patting the mattress beside him. They'll both fit but there won't be much space to roll around. They'll be close. Yusuke hears Akira's cat whine with displeasure as he slips onto the bed, bringing the covers up to his chin, but he doesn't feel bad. The cat has the entire futon to laze on now if it wishes.

Yusuke doesn't mind the trade at all.

He can feel Akira's hand touch the back of his neck as he closes his eyes, the tips of his fingers soft against his skin. Then over the back of his shirt, slow and exploratory; it could be his imagination, so he doesn't say anything. He doesn't turn to him and ask him why, because he is afraid of the answer. If he asks, it might make Akira stop, might make him aware of the soft touches he may not have realized he's even doing.

Akira is special — a delicate ecosystem of thoughts and quirks that Yusuke has come to love. If he can help it, he doesn't want to disturb that balance.

But then he dreams, falling asleep with Akira's warmth pressed up against his back. He sees Akira in the distance and he waves at him, but he's so far away. Somehow Yusuke knows that he couldn't reach him here even if he tried, so he doesn't take a single step in his direction, not even to attempt to bridge the distance. 

The smell of meat fills the air, raw and bloody. When Yusuke opens his mouth he can taste it, his teeth gnawing at the tough flesh. It's midday but he can't feel the sun's heat; he just tastes the meat as he makes his way to the front door of his Madarame's home. The door is open, letting in the fresh air as if his mentor is on his way out, just past the threshold, grabbing his keys. But Madarame is nowhere to be seen so Yusuke steps inside. It's cold and dark in the front room; all of the curtains are drawn and when Yusuke looks behind him, the door has disappeared.

There is nowhere to walk but forward, one foot in front of the other. Yusuke doesn't know why he is so afraid; this is his home too, after all. Why should he be afraid? This is a place of nurturing and learning. 

The door to the kitchen doesn't make a sound when he swings it open; somehow he knew this was where he was meant to be, what he was meant to see. Madarame is sitting on the floor, bundles of flesh surrounding him. Blood is smeared across the floor and Madarame nearly slips as he scrabbles for each serving, clawed fingers digging into the skin before he bites into it.

When he looks up at Yusuke he smiles, mouth wide and teeth stained red.

"Join me," Madarame says, offering his blood-covered hand to his last remaining pupil. "Yusuke."


	2. Chapter 2

"Yusuke?"

The same name. A different voice. Yusuke nuzzles into the comforting hand on his forehead, struggling to open his eyes. The dream remains vivid in his mind, motionless like a photograph but he can still see every detail, every inch of grotesque horror.

Bloodied lips. Teeth gnawing at nondescript chunks of flesh. Madarame smiling up at him, eyes welcoming him to the depths of hell.

And then Yusuke's eyes are open and he's back in Akira's attic room, the rain pattering against the window. He would be overjoyed to have Akira so close to him, touching him, if he weren't so afraid. Not even Akira can stop him from shivering, not when his nightmare is so close behind him that it still feels so real.

"I have to go," Yusuke says, throwing back the blanket before standing up. His feet feel so uncertain beneath him, still desperate to cling onto the life he has come to know. Although he can't make out Akira's expression, he can see his arm fall to his side, dejected and limp. The last thing he's ever wanted to do is make Akira feel rejected or alone — like Yusuke has for much of his life — but this is something he has to do.

"Where are you going?"

Akira doesn't ask why or how, despite how sudden this all is as Yusuke rushes to slip on his shoes. Whether or not it's intentional, Yusuke loves him for that. For that curious glimmer in his eyes after they have crept downstairs; for the way he refuses to let Yusuke leave until he's helped him into his coat, hands lingering for as long as they're able to.

Yusuke can feel the desperation in the way Akira clutches at the front of his coat, wanting to keep him here where it's safe and where the nightmares can be waved away as an imagination running amuck. But there's more to it than that.

There's always been more to it.

"I have to see it for myself," Yusuke says. It isn't really an answer, but it will have to do for now; Yusuke's mind is swimming with too many thoughts, too many coincidences.

"Will you come back?"

Yusuke steps away from Akira and out into the rain, the water hitting his face and sliding down his cheeks. He doesn't reply, for he doesn't know. There might be no coming back from this, in at least one sense of the word. Some instinct deep down begs himself not to press the issue, not to indulge his scattered thoughts, but he cannot stop what has already begun. The pieces of the puzzle are frayed in his head, but he can tell now that they all fit together. Somehow, in some way, it all makes sense; he just turned away from it until now.

He hadn't wished to see.

The front door of Madarame's house isn't open like it was in his dream, and something about that is a relief. His mentor isn't in the kitchen, either, and he's starting to wonder what about his dream had made him so uneasy in the first place. It was eerie and the strange lumps of meat scattered across the floor were grotesque, but that's just how nightmares are: unsettling and often nonsensical. But something about his latest dream gnaws at him, scratching at the back of his mind, begging him to come and see, to open the door and gaze upon its horrors.

Something tells him that if he opens his eyes, he will see it all laid bare.

Yusuke has always admired the artistry of the door that Madarame keeps locked: the irregularity of the shapes, the waves of color. It is Madarame's special room, but he's never thought of it as something secret that his mentor is hiding from him; it is merely a private space where he is not allowed to wander. Somewhere personal, unfit for his feet to tread. He's always felt unworthy of Madarame's attention, of his willingness to house him. Even when Madarame pushes him to create, Yusuke adores him.

But the door is open now, and something drags him past the forbidden threshold; after the first look, he is lost. There is a large blue tarp set out on the floor, crackling beneath his feet, and on it lies the dismembered body of Yoshie. He can still remember the sound of his voice, excitable and cheery, and when Yusuke thinks of how much jealousy he let swell up inside him, bile rises in his throat. He clutches at the door frame, turning his head from the gruesome scene, but it still remains in his vision, tormenting him: arms and legs flayed open with the head off to the side as if it is of no importance. Useless.

Yoshie's eyes stare back up at him, glossy but lacking life's fire. How many times has Madarame told Yusuke that it is his mind that is the most beautiful thing of all — to let it run free so that he might create wonders that other people can only glimpse fragments of in dreams? And what is the brain, if not central to such activity? And yet there is Yoshie's head, nestled amongst strips of skin and forgotten bone.

Useless.

Sitting on the floor with a knife in hand — at the very center of the chaos — is Madarame. He doesn't look up at Yusuke with a delirious sort of joy as he had in his dream; if anything, he seems sad as he sighs deeply. Maybe he is relieved, for his human farce is finally at an end. He lets Yusuke see his kagune, a flicker of red pupils and black sclerae. Even though it is all directly in front of him, it's difficult for Yusuke to grasp — the one person he thought he knew, thought he could trust; the only family he has ever known; his mentor, his teacher, his father.

A ghoul.

"I did it for you," Madarame says as if that explains anything. Yusuke shakes his head, trying to will away the guilt that Madarame is trying to force upon him. Yes, he has always been jealous of his fellow pupils, snatching away what he thought of as his precious time with Madarame, but he never wanted anyone to be hurt. He just wanted to learn, to study, to grow under the tutelage of someone he admires, and part of him wanted to be loved, too.

"For me." Yusuke's voice doesn't sound like his own; it's thick with apprehension, at the reality finally starting to set in. "Everyone who you said left us, betrayed us —"

"Yes. We ate them. Together."

"And now you are going to kill me. That is what your kind do."

"No, Yusuke. I'm not going to kill you."

The moments of silence tick by; it feels like an eternity that Yusuke stands there, reminding himself that he isn't dreaming this time. Never has he felt closer to death, so near to slipping into the abyss. Madarame gestures to the door, to Yusuke's escape, but it's been ingrained in him that ghouls are merciless creatures. If he turns from him, that will be the moment that he is struck — neck broken, ribcage shattered. And yet a part of him can't help but honor Madarame, the man he once respected more than life itself, so he bows to him, knees shaking. He wants to thank him for everything he has taught him — how to live for something bigger, something more influential than himself — as well as for sparing his life, but the words escape him. His hands clutch at his pants, bunching the fabric up in his fingers as tears fall to the floor. He watches each one as it hits the tarp, pooling up alongside the stains of blood. Each time, it reminds him of the remains scattered across the room, of a life cut so tragically short.

His tears remind him of Madarame's mercy, too.

"Yusuke." Madarame is in front of him now, lifting his chin up with bloodied hands, all just to face him this one last time. "You've grown so much."

It's Madarame who turns away from him first, returning to his grisly task of skinning the corpse on the floor, popping bits of flesh into his mouth as he works. If Yusuke hadn't stumbled across Madarame in the act of dismembering Yoshie, the action might've seemed so much more innocuous.

Chomping on meat. Bits of stringy flesh sticking between his teeth.

Yusuke runs. He rubs at his face with his arm, but all that does is stain the sleeve of his once-white shirt. He can taste the blood in his mouth now, iron thick and coppery in his throat; if he stopped running, he would gag and scream as it all comes pouring back into his head.

Madarame, a ghoul. The meat Yusuke had revered as a precious gift from teacher to his most precious student had been human all along. Not only that but people he knew; people who he had slept in the same room with; people whose family members he had glimpsed in photographs from the past.

Did any of the families ever discover what happened to their loved ones? Were they silenced in a similar fashion for their curiosity?

The idea that Yusuke might be the only one who knows is crushing. His chest feels tight, the truths weighing heavy on his back, pulling at his skin and dragging him down, down.

Akira is still awake when Yusuke makes it back to Leblanc, breathless and covered in sweat. He says his name so faintly that Yusuke isn't sure if he's just hearing things, and for a moment he wonders if he's really even here. Is he alive? Why hadn't Madarame killed him?

But then Akira wraps his arms around him, scooping him up into a warm embrace. As he's cradled against him, he can feel Akira's heart, beating wildly in his chest, and that's what brings Yusuke back. If this is real, then it's all real: Madarame is a ghoul, and Yoshie is dead. So many have died, and he consumed their flesh, dined on it as if it were the most divine of delicacies.

Knowing the truth of where all the meat came from doesn't change the fact that Yusuke loved it. He cherished those nights spent with Madarame, bonding over their ritualistic meal. The thought mortifies him, but he can't change the past now.

All he has now is the future. One foot in front of the other.

"Are you hurt?" Akira asks. "Yusuke, is this your blood?"

Yusuke clenches Akira's shirt in his hands as he kisses him. The blood smears across their lips, that raw taste of the forbidden filling his mouth, burning his tongue. Although the idea of tainting Akira abhors him, it almost feels necessary; if Akira is to understand him, demons and all, he requires only the smallest taste. To force Akira into the fold, into his darkness, reeks of a greed that he never imagined himself capable of. And yet here he is, holding the man he loves, sharing the taste of blood. Akira doesn't pull away, not even when Yusuke kisses him deeper, tongue touching his lips. Akira doesn't know what he's consenting to when he parts his lips, what he is accepting into his body; he just holds him tighter, one hand running through Yusuke's hair, pulling him closer.

It's closer than Yusuke ever imagined being held by anyone. His secrets pass from his lips to Akira's, staining him with sin. But they're together in that now.

At least they're together.

If the blood bothers Akira, he doesn't mention it. Maybe Yusuke will have to explain later, to answer for everything, but for now, they just find comfort in one another. At this moment, where he's come from doesn't matter. The paths he has walked and the choices he's made are all a blur with Akira's arms around him.

Even as the tears dry on his cheeks, pressing against Akira's, he feels loved.

Yusuke just doesn't want to be alone, and neither, it seems, does Akira.

**Author's Note:**

> I chose Yoshie as the character's name because of [the meaning of 芳 (e.g. "fragrant")](https://jisho.org/search/%E8%8A%B3).
> 
> I re-watched Tokyo Ghoul last year, and Amon's backstory with Donato really struck me. I always wanted to write something for Yusuke and Madarame inspired by it.


End file.
